blogfromafar

We were looking for something a little different on our day off A little trip, a fresh perspective. Time for a drive to Ham Orchards in Terrell. We took the back roads from McKinney through Lucas, St. Paul, Lavon and Rockwall, with a nod to Fate and Poetry, Texas to the East. Ham Orchards is just east of Terrell, a low slung white building with a country porch in front, occupied by people eating peach and strawberry ice creams. Inside are gorgeous rows of peaches along with other preserves and jellies. Best of all to me is the cooler stocked with fresh East Texas cream peas, purple hulls, and butter beans (pronounced “buttuh beeeens” as my Granddad would say). (more…)

Folks think that because we seem to be somewhat fun, have a “foodie” store and love Italy, that we must also be up to date on the Dallas restaurant and nightlife scene. Too kind. Fact is, between our 30-minute commute home to McKinney and the fact that Gary can cook meals that beat most restaurant fare, we don’t get out much. When we decided to venture out a bit and see if we could score a couple of tickets to Andera Bocelli’s concert at the American Airlines Center Saturday night, we were in need of advice. (more…)

We were just another stop on his tour, but we were so glad, too glad to be in Dallas and “getting it”. For those of us who know Andrea’s (because, of course, we’re all on a virtual first name basis with him) stage presence from A Night In Tuscany, this performance was a bit different. The joyful, emotional exchanges with bad boy Zucchero and Sarah Brightman were absent, as was the lovely moonlit piazza in Pisa, for that matter. We are all 12 years older, for starters, and one could draw the conclusion that he’s gone back to his roots, to music that has resonated through centuries. (more…)

The lights went out last night. A summer storm blew through town, predicted and heralded by the TV and hyperventilating storm watchers. Sultry riffs of thunder tumbled towards us, digesting as it came, and spiderwebs of light tossed across the sky. Then the lights went out.

There was still enough gray summer light that we could find the flashlights and candles. We chopped vegetables noisily in the dark, sounds coming at us more strongly than in full light. We’d done enough prep work on dinner; we could finish the vegetables in the blue light of the gas stove, and bake the casserole in the grill. We snuck a bottle of wine out of the dark, warming refrigerator, and talked as we ate our irregularly cooked meal. We talked, not deeply, but in a settled way, about our ancestors: ranchers and farmers who rose and set with the sun.

The lights were back on in time to clean up and watch a recording of The Colbert Report before we retired for the evening. Finally, we read ourselves to sleep in the sunny electric light. We slept snugly, warmly, grateful for the comforts of home and the delicious danger of a summer storm.